Dogged
by wintry
Summary: Sacrifices must be made for grief- even one man's sense of humanity. Slash, HD. Post-OotP


**Dogged**

It has been years since Sirius died. 

Harry told everyone that he would be okay in the beginning. They would look at him and smile with their eyes turned into frowns, but they always said that they were happy that he could cope so well, and move on. 

They were lying, of course. They were lying and Harry lied to them all the same, he knew what they really wished to say and sometimes...sometimes he couldn't help but get angry. The first few days in the house, he was so furious that the portraits had stopped shrieking, horror-struck, with something called pity painted into their eyes.  

The severed heads swayed on the walls, Kreacher among them, and seemed to shake themselves at the scene. 'Harry Potter is alone now,' he could hear, 'Master is finally gone, he is, Kreacher knows the bad man is gone, Mistress will be pleased.' 

No, some part of Sirius is still around. It makes no difference, really, it hurts just as much as if Harry had nothing, but he coddles it and cares for it when he thinks no one is still looking. 

The dog is big and black. He has just the right mix of good humor and sincerity, he likes prancing like an idiot out in the rain, and he will chase his tail when Harry asks him to. Obedience is not a problem; the dog only has it when he feels in the mood. 

Still...it isn't Sirius. Harry can't content himself, but he cares for it anyway because what else can he do?

Christmas time at Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place is the same as ever; that is, Harry would like it to be, he came as close as he could. The dog sits and watches by his feet while Harry mutters the charms and lets the decorations fly out of his hand. How was it that Sirius curled the garlands around the hall? Harry can't remember anymore. 

He tries to sing carols, but his voice fails after the first rendition of 'God Rest You, Merrye Hippogriffs'- he doesn't sing again after that. The house makes no attempt to put on Christmas cheer, and it is odd and silent and Harry's throat is very tight. 

The dog wanders off. Harry had named it but doesn't call it by that name anymore, doesn't call it by any name. It's always around; Harry barely needs to glance up in order to see it follow him into a room. 

There is a touch at the back of his neck. Harry is startled, bent on his Christmas preparations, but relaxes slowly and doesn't dare turn around. The touch is familiar, controlled as if it always wished to strangle him, and he can always feel that power whenever the hand brushes against him. 

"Dra-,"

"Call me by my name, Potter, won't you?" he whispers pleasantly, the back of his hand trailing against Harry's throat. "You haven't bothered to use it since you first bought me here...why, _Master_, I think you've nearly forgotten who I am." He lets out a soft, restrained laugh. "What was it again?" Harry will not look at him. 

"Not now, Dra-," 

"That isn't my name, now, is it? What did you name me? You screamed it before, but it seems you've forgotten."

"S-Sirius," says Harry angrily. The garland shudders warningly by the ceiling, no longer attended. "I don't understand, why aren't you-?"

"It gets dull, you know. That's all it is. Did you think I came to comfort you in your time of suffering, Potter? Make it all better? Let's see you make it all better for me. You never seem interested in that."

"Dra-...Sirius...you agreed, you must remember."

"Ah, I do, though." He plays with the hair at the base of Harry's neck. "Even Sirius makes mistakes, Potter. Agreeing to this make-believe of yours, for one." Harry is trembling. He drops his wand and the garland doesn't bother levitating anymore. It throws itself into a pile at their feet. "Thinking I could hate you was the other. Silly me. Never stood a chance, did I? No, I had to give in after awhile."

Harry gains composure and lifts his wand again- the garland returns, abashed. Sirius takes the wand, however, and Harry cannot refuse. "What's this, Potter? Giving me your wand, now. Don't tell me you actually _trust me with this thing."_

Harry is silent for a moment. "It seems...I'm your downfall."

"So it seems," Sirius murmurs back after a moment, almost affectionately. Without looking, Harry can tell that his hair isn't black and neither are his eyes. "So it seems." The garland weaves its way up Harry's body at the wand's command, the fresh holly berries catching at the buttons of his shirt and trailing purple-red juices across his flesh. 

And Sirius becomes very quiet. After a moment, the wand is returned and Harry puts it away. 

"Draco."

"Oh, that's my name now, is it?" His voice is distantly cold, reminding Harry of school days, years before. Harry can tell Draco has drawn away somewhere, to the one of the chairs in the corners of the room, and with the garland wrapped about his waist and shoulders, Harry doesn't wish to move after him. 

"I'm sorry. You've done a lot for me...look, I'm- I'm _sorry_, all right? You gave in and that was what I needed at the time- I couldn't think of anything else. It can't change now, I-...I...Draco? Draco, where are you, are you listening to me now? Draco, you don't understand, I would've done anything, made any sacrifice for...for some damn comfort! There's nothing I can do about it now, all right?! Draco?" 

Harry turns around and looks at him- yes, it is Draco now. And Draco smiles back, and his eyes are dark and sad and empty, more like a dog's eyes by the day. Usually Harry can hear the smile in Draco's voice, and now it is odd, allowing himself to see it. He wants to look away but holds himself to it, telling himself that you sometimes you need to see, you need to know, and it is no use pretending anymore. 

"Yes, Potter. I'm here."

_Sirius isn't here, and there is no part of him left except a few months worth of memories. _

"Don't look at me like that. I'm just trying to explain to you-,"

"Please, don't bother. You don't see, do you? It can still change, it-," 

Draco must realize something because he relents, closing his mouth, and looks at Harry mutely. He turns away sharply and does not respond when Harry calls his name. 

"Draco," he says, but his voice is feeble and heartless.

Harry watches and does nothing as black fur ripples down Draco's spine and spreads, shifting like water across his shoulders and over his head until there is nothing left of Draco, nothing left of that boy who surrendered himself to Harry's grief. Only Sirius. 

The dog pushes its head against Harry's knee, its tail wagging, and Harry looks into those eyes again. He unwinds the garland and Sirius trots after him, towards the kitchen. 

Or is he...? No. 

Only Sirius.

And the dog watches him intently and seems to say, _I don't want anything that you can't give. _


End file.
